Home
by SaneYaoiAddict
Summary: Mello returns home to Wammy's with Matt after the conclusion of the Kira case.


After so many long years, Matt and I were finally returning home—England.

Although we weren't quite sure where we were born, having been abandoned and raised in orphanages even before we were brought to Wammy's, the years we spent in Wammy's House led us to fondly regard England, specifically Wammy's House, as our home.

It fit the occasion best to return here; the Kira case had finally come to an end. There were many necessary sacrifices for this outcome—I nearly died, myself—and yet, the world was finally, albeit slowly, returning to its prior state.

It had been so many years since I had last seen Wammy's—a flood of memories engulfed me as I looked around: the gates that would creak if we opened them the wrong way, making it hard to sneak out to get chocolate and cigarettes with Matt; the courtyard, where I played football with some friends, and even the building where my dorm room was, where I spent so much of my time studying. The shed where Matt and I would hide behind, where I kept lookout as Matt smoked, had fallen into disrepair; the rotting wood had fallen to the ground, many splintering pieces in a heap.

Memories were everywhere in this place—each corner of this orphanage held some accomplishment for my childhood self: the rocky place in the courtyard I finally forced Near to fight me after years of being fed up, and consequently, the only place holding victory for me instead of Near; the place in the halls where rankings were posted, or better remembered as the place I would punch Near every week; my old classroom, spent passing notes to Matt when the teacher had his back turned; sharing a room with Matt, all the quiet nights spent talking; the night I finally confessed my feelings for him, and he told me he felt the same; our first kiss, soft and hesitant; the first time we had sex, in my bed, while I tried to be as gentle as possible, and we both tried to stay quiet, so we wouldn't be caught.

Returning to this place forced me to recall days long last—events of years, decades ago. Though I smiled at the more humorous ones, dug my nails into my palm at the infuriating ones, and even felt my heart melt at some of the warm moments, mostly between Matt and me, I couldn't keep tears from stinging at my eyes.

Matt had always been with me—my only constant companion over the years, my roommate, my best friend, my _lover. _

He was here with me now, and it was here he would remain, forever. Never changing, never moving, never breathing.

Some of the other previous students taught here were gathered around a large hole in the ground, where Matt's coffin would be placed. Near was there as well, and for once, my first instinct wasn't to choke him. If anything, I wanted to hold him close, to force him to comfort me—he knew how close I was to Matt. Matt's death had been too much for me to handle.

"We are gathered here today…"

I didn't pay attention to the words, not even able to remember who the speaker was. But how _dare _he talk as if he knew Matt. Nobody understood him the way I did. Those words didn't do him justice.

I heard him speak Matt's true name—a secret only known by Matt himself and me, before. But now that he was dead, it didn't matter who knew his name. It was shared by everyone, a common, meaningless fact. Our bond, our pact, to keep our names secret between us meant nothing now.

Nothing could hurt him now.

His coffin was opened, and on impulse, I ran up to it and grasped at his too-cold, too-still body. He should move, respond in some way. Open his eyes—_something. _

How I missed the way he held me, the way he kissed me—I would never know the feeling of either again.

I didn't even have any pictures—the vibrant green of his eyes, the intense red of his hair, would slowly be forgotten in time. Photographs were a risk we hadn't taken while he was alive, and by now it was too late. I wouldn't have anything to hold on to, to remember him by.

I hadn't even had enough time to hold him before I felt myself being dragged away from him, and heard gasps and shocked exclamations from the crowd. I tried to break free, to run back and hold him again—I knew I had to hold him again, one last time.

And yet, they insisted on keeping us apart, as if the barriers between life—short, fleeting life—and death, cold unforgiving, eternal death, weren't sufficient already. We had been ripped apart already, and I was foolish for attempting to change that.

Holding him, kissing him, kissing his _dead body_could never bring him back, no matter how strong my desire for it.

But I was too weak—physically and emotionally drained, exhausted—to break free. I couldn't do it on my own.

"Please," I murmured. "Please."

Something in my voice prompted the men holding me back to release me. It was a foolish thing to do, though I was grateful, of course. I simply rushed back to where his body rested in the coffin—satin, white and perfect, inside—and stroked his hair, forcing him into an awkward and unnatural sitting position. Not caring that everyone was watching me, I pressed my lips against his and sobbed, choking and crying out against his unyielding lips, his body providing no comfort.

And yet, I couldn't pull myself away.

The shocked whispers of the crowd did nothing to distract me; I had to have him close. I had to kiss him. I couldn't let him go.

I didn't know what possessed me to do it, and yet, I couldn't stop kissing him, loving him, stroking his hair affectionately.

Everybody around me gradually began to leave, but whether out if disgust or respect for my emotions, my privacy, I didn't know. By nightfall, I was alone, though I couldn't sense time passing; I only noticed it growing colder and darker, as if I was dying, too.

Holding him, I had expected him to give off heat, though I gradually grew accustomed to the coldness of his skin. I grew accustomed to his lack of a response, of even a word, even a noise, and the limpness of his body, slumping against mine, with his head resting on my shoulder.

As if he was merely asleep.

Were it not for his lack of a heartbeat, his silence, and lack of body heat, I may have assumed such a thing. I may have let myself believe he was just asleep, just oblivious to my affection.

I cradled his body, sobbing. I would never feel his touch again, never see his smile, never hear his laugh. He would never kiss me again, no matter how long I sat on the frozen, late January ground with him, forcing his body to give me something he couldn't even feel.

Realizing he couldn't love me back was like being a teenager again—before I even knew he felt the same.

Just like all those nights he was asleep, even before we became a couple, I stroked his hair and kissed him on the cheek again, a tear falling onto his face. I wiped it off; he didn't need my pain.

Just like all those nights at Wammy's, before he knew I loved him, before we dated, I couldn't help but kiss him. It was just the same in sleep than in death—cold and unresponsive, and it only hurt more knowing he couldn't feel it.

Just like all of those nights, I murmured, "I love you," as if I expected him to respond. As if I expected him to return the words. But I would never hear the words, nor any from his lips, ever again.

He was dead. Gone. Forever.

"I'll always love you."

_**This story is, in my opinion, more poetic than my previous ones. I attribute that to the fact that I'm roleplaying more, and some of the characters have more official tones that I'm used to, as well as to the fact that I'm studying Shakespeare in school. This is my attempt at a twist ending, and I am actually proud of it, so I would appreciate reviews for it. **_

_**Still, even if you decide not to review, thanks for reading. :] **_


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